Bad
by CSI Clue
Summary: Tony throws a party and is thrown himself.
1. Chapter 1

The party is Tony's idea, of course. He's decided it will be fun; a way of unifying the loyal employees of Stark Industries around the new direction the company is taking. The concept of saying goodbye to the past in a legendary bash holds massive appeal, and even Pepper agrees that it will make for great public relations and pointed symbolism.

"A villain party—think of it, Potts! This will be the last time anyone can call Stark Industries the bad guys, right? We'll dress up, have an evilly good time, and then put away the concept for good—in more ways than one. Give everyone a halo as a parting gift, even, you know?" Tony enthuses, leaning back in his chair, his feet on the desk. Behind him, through the majestic windows, the sun is starting to set.

"Out with the bad, in with the good?" she prompts, typing a few quick memos into her BlackBerry. This will require all three levels of her catering contacts, and probably more, Pepper figures. People and objects are easiest; place can be trickier.

"Yep. A clean sweep, and a chance to thumb our nose at the press," Tony agrees, folding his hands behind his head. "Facing up to what we've done, but making it clear we're leaving that behind. My one last chance to be a villain in the public eye, so to speak."

"Really," Pepper murmurs dryly. "So no more foreclosing orphanages or tying maidens to railroad tracks?"

Tony waves a hand. "Been there; done that—Amtrak has NO sense of humor. Besides, I'd be a more dashing villain than that. I'm thinking Mao suit in silver lamé, with a fluffy white cat in my arms. Sort of a Doctor No, brought up-to-date."

"More like Doctor No-Impulse-Control," Pepper murmurs under her breath, but Tony shoots her a lascivious look and crooks a finger at her, beckoning her forward.

"Talk like _that_ won't get you an invitation to the party, Miss Potts," he murmurs in a low and intimate voice. "And I really _want_ you . . . to be there."

She smirks; he's pushing again, in that dedicated charming and ruthless way of his. Just because the two of them have begun a slightly more personal relationship, Tony has re-doubled his efforts to flirt, and Pepper is enjoying his efforts to seduce her.

But cautious soul that she is, it's at _her_ pace; a compromise that both frustrates and intrigues Tony. They've dated for a month now, and done some kissing and making out; chastely by Stark standards, but Pepper won't rush something this important.

A year ago, Tony couldn't remember her birthday; now he's learning about her every day, and he's by turns curious and fascinated by the knowledge—which is more than enough for Pepper.

"I'd _like_ to be there," she assures him.

*** *** ***

--Tony--

A lot of people in this world have the wrong idea of how I work. That's understandable; I go for a lot of misdirection anyway, partially the result of living in the public eye, and partially because screwing with the minds of the majority of the world is a total hoot.

Honestly, ask any person in the United States of America who Tony Stark is, and you'll get one of three standard answers. According to Ms and Mr. America, I'm A) a playboy billionaire, B) a warmongering industrialist with an agenda second only to the Illuminati, or C) both of the above. I'm proud to say I've worked hard to cultivate those responses, actually. My flamboyance feeds the publicity machinations of several tabloids, and my engineering talents tend to keep Stark Industries stock in the triple A ratings.

Still, it's not exactly easy, particularly in light of my recent past. I'm not and never will be thrilled at how my personal epiphanies came about—it's no credit to me to have been kidnapped at the orders of my own CFO and trusted mentor—but I'd like to believe I've taken some previously neglected truths to my damaged heart.

Lessons learned in firelight and in blood.

So once I got myself out of there, I was determined to put the focus of my time onto things that actually _mattered_ instead of into all the soft and ultimately meaningless perks of my days. That didn't exactly go smoothly either, but my point is that I'm a quick learner, and being bitchslapped into the realities of the Third World is something I'm never going to forget.

Anyway. Between opportunities to balance the global scale and do my part to bring some justice here and there, I also have been making it a point to clean house at home, as it were. Took a good long look at the lifestyle and figured out just how much of it I needed to keep to maintain the illusion of who I used to be.

Turns out it wasn't too much. I gave up most of the booze, some of the publicity, all of the women.

Okay, that's not exactly accurate. Giving up the women was tough. IS tough, although I've always got the old manual standby. It's not that I don't _want_ women; believe me I do. Very into women, trust me.

The problem now is that I only want _one_ woman, and she's not giving in without this long serious attempt at a real relationship.

Don't you love the irony? The one woman I want is the one who says 'no' to me, albeit with more kindness than I deserve at times.

Pepper, Pepper, Pepper. She wouldn't hurt a fly, she's gorgeous and smart and has this ass that I my hands fit around perfectly, Rawr! And in silk? Please—I'm drooling.

Again.

I know damned well that I need her for far more than just her capacity to keep me on course through my career and lifestyle. She started out as an accessory—something I'm not proud to admit by the way—and ultimately, the woman has become a hell of a lot more than I can adequately express.

She's funny. She's sweet. She's always there when I need her, and damn it, Potts finds ways into my psyche and soul and I absolutely love her, no question about it.

Pepper is frustrating me. Big time.

We were in this weird little holding pattern for a while, ever since the press conference where I stepped up and admitted that I was Iron Man. I think that both pissed her off and pleased her; she doesn't really talk to me about that particular afternoon.

But—and I say this with a glimmer of hope—she's still with me, and of late, things have been much easier between us. Pepper won't ever come out and admit it, but she _likes_ taking care of me. Oh she grumbles about my bad habits and tries to round me up like, quote "The hyperactive two-year-old man-toddler" unquote that I supposedly am, but for all her bitching, it's clear something besides the paycheck is keeping her around.

And I found out what that something was about a month ago, big time, when in the course of one of our disagreements, push came to shove and lips came to lips.

She won _that_ argument.

Needless to say, we're taking it slow. I'm not crazy about that part, but I'm not going to blow it, either. Pepper is too important to me to rush the issue, even though certain body parts are complaining about it, especially when she hugs me or kisses me. Who would have thought I had a spoiled body too?

*** *** ***

Plans are underway, and two days later, Pepper stands outside Tony's office, juggling a few files before entering. She can hear him on the phone, talking to Jim from the volume and laughter, and that makes her happy.

Not that she wants to eavesdrop, but it's not often that Tony sounds so amused, and when she hears her name, she's curious. Leaning in a bit, Pepper guiltily listens.

"No, you'd look good as one, seriously. Gives you a chance to at least *try* and keep up with my costume," comes the tease. "At least you'll look the part, unlike Potts."

Blinking, Pepper cocks her head. Tony's tone is light, but there's a dismissive tone to it that bothers her. Then his next words confirm it.

"Come on, Platypus, she couldn't be villainous even if you injected her with essence of evil and dipped her in sarcasm! Pepper is the _epitome_ of good girl—as pure as they come, man. I bet her idea of a villain costume is showing up as my fourth grade teacher, Miss Feinberg, complete with detention slips and erasers to clean."

Pepper stands stock-still, feeling the first heat of fury deep in her stomach. It's like a tiny dab of emotional wasabi, so hot it numbs before the burn sets in. Her gut reaction sears through the hurt, and she grits her teeth as her entire face tenses for a moment in light of Tony's jest.

_He's teasing; he doesn't mean it_, she thinks, but right on top of that comes the thought, _That is--he didn't mean for you to hear it. Or know what he *really* thinks of you._

Pepper feels the heat flare up, but tamps it down and plasters a smile on her face as she waits to a count of ten and knocks on the door. Time enough to deal with this later, when she has more perspective.

And a better idea of what she's going to do.

*** *** ***

--Tony--

So for two days before the party I'm trying to figure out what's going on with Pepper. I want to chalk it up to preoccupation, or stress or something like that, but the truth is, I'm getting the _bland_ smile in the most elegant way possible.

And I don't like it much. Pepper is giving me the face she uses for people she _has_ to deal with, and I'm not supposed to be in that category. I used to be, ages ago when the A in A. Stark stood for something besides Anthony, but that was before Afghanistan . . . which also starts with A for those of you keeping score in Scrabble.

Still. Pepper isn't getting into the spirit of the thing, and that bugs the hell out of me because I want her to lighten up and have fun. She works too hard most of the time, and this thing is supposed to be for her too.

She doesn't laugh though my fitting for the silver lamé Mao suit—and by the way may I add that I can totally pull it off. Not that I'm looking to get into the villain gig, but I do have the cheekbones for it. That and the eyebrows. Let's face facts—you've got to have a menacing arch to those babies and the ability to use it.

Thanks to my mother, I do.

Anyway, Potts is not amused, not by the suit, or the quest for a cat I can carry, either. I'm not so shallow that I'd buy a Persian to haul around all night, but renting isn't out of the question, and through the good graces of an animal rescue associate named Bebe Dang, I have a good-natured retired show business cat for the night; a seven pound fluffball named Doof, who adores being carried around.

Bebe's coming to the party as well.

Doof used to star in cat food commercials and his weight bears it out; I'll be getting my workout big time at the party, that's for sure. He's purring like an Evinrude motor too, and Pepper pets him a little, but doesn't give _me _the time of day and keeps her clipboard up like it's a force field.

And I can't get a clue out of her what she's coming as. That's driving me batshit, frankly. If these were the old days, I'd tell her that if she didn't 'fess up, I'd leave her name off the guest list.

Which is really a useless threat, since she's the one setting up the party, but that's not the point. I just want Pepper to break down and admit she's coming as a crooked Meter Maid, or a knife-wielding librarian or something.

Come to think of it, she'd look hot as either of those.

*** *** ***

She makes the calls and pulls out the favors owed; Pepper doesn't give herself time to think about what she's choosing to do, because if she did, she'd talk herself out of it, and that tiny little core of rage within her is driving this.

Rage, Pepper admits. That's what it truly is.

She's tried hard not to let Tony know what's coming, but he's not as easy to dupe these days. He's much more attuned to her, and Pepper doesn't want to give up being angry right now, because a part of her knows he needs this lesson.

_She_ needs to give this lesson.

So swiftly, Pepper pulls together her outfit for the party, making sure the ensemble stays hidden away from her notes and responses to Tony. She slips away for a fitting, collects the accessories, and by Saturday morning, the day of the party, she is ready.

By three in the afternoon, Pepper has checked all the arrangements at the hotel—from food to security to media coverage—and has managed to keep Tony distracted enough to ensure a quiet getaway. At her apartment, she lights candles and sets out the oils, drawing a long, serene bath for herself. Amid the heat and perfume, Pepper meditates, letting her mind analyze all the possible scenarios that might unfold at the party. She focuses on the one she'd most like to see happen, and smiles to herself.

This part is fun, she acknowledges. Giving in to the small bit of ruthlessness she possesses is something she doesn't do often (usually she only pulls it out during shoe sales, or run-ins with certain pissy clients of SI) but turning it on Tony will draw a line in the sand once and for all.

He may not take it well, Pepper knows. He may be furious, and she prepares herself for that particular circumstance, hoping like hell that it's not going to come to that. Tony can be unforgiving at times; Pepper has seen that in action.

But far more likely is that matters will go _her_ way, and Pepper chooses to focus on the promise of that. Tony Stark, the bluffer, the party boy, the king of confidence—it will be a pleasure to bring him to his knees.

Pepper loops one elegant toe through the big metal ring of the bath plug and pulls it before getting out of the scented water.

*** *** ***

--Tony—

Party! Man, I've missed this. I used to have so many that they were boring, but it's been a while since I threw one and it feels good to see things hustling and bustling around me. Pepper picked a nice spot for it—the Noir Lounge at the Omni hotel. We've got the entire top floor and lounge for the bash, with great views, a dance floor, three Moroccan-style hot tubs and a catering staff done up in dancing girl and cabana boy costumes.

Good times, no matter what your flavor, you know?

From where Doof and I are standing up at the far railing, I can see down to the main elevator doors between big potted palms, and I've been watching guests come up. So far we've got three Nazis, a Mad Scientist, some vampires and a Kim Jong-il . . . not bad. Nice to see people getting into the spirit of the thing. Hogan cracks me up—he's got on a black turtleneck sweater with the letters 'Henchman' across his big chest in red. Henchman—yeah, he qualifies, and I wonder if his sweater was his idea or Pepper's.

There are others with sweaters too—some say 'Thug' or 'Minion' or 'Goon' on them. Kinda remind me of guys out of that old TV version of Batman. It takes me a minute to realize they're the security for the party. Nice. Definitely a Potts touch there.

I'm getting a little antsy though, waiting for her in fact. She hasn't dropped clue one about what she's coming as, and I'm curious as hell to see what she's chosen. Frankly, I'd love it if she did the whole Bimbo Girlfriend thing. Every good Evil Übervillain needs a Bimbo Girlfriend, and Potts would be cute in a little silver Spandex number to match yours truly here.

With strappy stiletto heels and bright pink lipstick maybe, hubba, hubba.

Mostly likely not gonna happen. Pepper doesn't _do_ Bimbo, not even for parties. She's got too much class, and I respect that, even if I occasionally dream of naughty giggles and big bubble gum bubbles.

Between you and me, if Potts ever gets in a schoolgirl uniform for me, I will probably implode into a pile of Iron Mush.

Anyway, Doof is rumbling away, and I'm just about to go check out some of the canapés when the elevator doors open and two guys in Chinese livery step out. They move to either side of the doors, and an apricot-haired woman glides out.

Tall, willowy, and Christ, wearing an arsenic green cheongsam so tight it's practically *molded* on. She turns and I realize two things at the same time as she puts a long lacquered cigarette holder to her red, red lips.

First is that her dress is slit on the side up to her _waist,_ exposing one hell of a gorgeous view of peach-tinted leg, thigh and hip.

Lushly naked leg, thigh and hip.

And second, that the lushly naked thigh and hip belong to Potts.

That's when I damned near drop Doof over the railing.

*** *** ***

She senses the little ripple through the room at her appearance and Pepper holds her pose for a moment, feeling smug. She hasn't watched Tony through the years and not picked up a thing or two about the art of making an entrance. Normally she'd blush at this many eyes on her, but tonight, in the dress and make-up and persona, it's easy to hide behind a cool and perfect mask of indifference.

Pepper lets her glance turn up, briefly, to where Tony is struggling with the cat. Doof is protesting about being manhandled, and is attempting to claw his way up Tony's arm. Tony is trying to regain some sense of composure, but it's comical to see him at a loss, and Pepper nearly smirks before turning away and taking a puff from the cigarette holder. She nods to the two men who escorted her in and they blend into the crowd, dismissed for the moment.

Pepper has her hair sleekly pulled back in a low chignon wrapped with thin strings of green pearls, and wears dangling earrings of the same. Her dress has one long and shimmering dragon coiling around her slender body; a embroidered dragon with hints of cool silver and tiny flecks of red that match her deadly lipstick and long, mandarin nails.

Happy glides over with a tray; a perfect jewel of a vodka martini sits in the center of it, chilled, olive-loaded and gorgeous.

Pepper takes it and reaches over with her cigarette holder, lightly using the stem of it to stroke under his chin. "Very good, Hogan," she whispers. "You please me."

He grins.

They have a rapport, the two of them, and it's empathetically clear in an instant that Hogan knows what she's doing. Knows, and approves. He tucks the tray under his arm and steps back, falling a few steps behind Pepper as she glides into the crowd. Unsurprisingly, they part for her, some awed; a few in stunned lust.

First target.

Pepper moves towards Hagler, one of the more obnoxious managers in Acquisitions. He looks like a fat little bunny in a tuxedo staring at the headlights of a Peterbilt as she stands before him. "Derrick," she coos.

"Y-y-yeah?"

"Are you still double-billing Accounting for those 'business' trips to Montana, darling?" Pepper asks softly. People standing near them make a noise; most are snickers.

"W-what? No! Wait, those are legitimate . . ." Hagler protests feebly, his vampire make-up melting a bit.

Pepper sighs and blows smoke in his face. "I'm sure they are, along with those conveniently acquired hunting and fishing licenses." She turns to the younger woman hanging on Hagler's arm. "And you know, Derrick's wife says she can't _remember_ the last time they took their children on a vacation, or even attended a party together. Imagine that!"

She glides away, feeling a frisson of triumph as the woman snarls at Hagler. "You told me you were divorced!"

Evil. Pepper is enjoying this, and the best is yet to come.

*** *** ***

--Tony—

Sort of freaking out here. There's a really, _really_ big disconnect going on between my brain and my body, most of it directly attributable to the appearance of Potts down below. I can't get any sort of coherence going because there's no _blood _anywhere north of my arc.

Eyes seared by the Oriental hotness.

Oh, look, there _is_ blood . . . it seems to be leaking from the claw marks inflicted by the annoyed cat in my arms. I look around for Bebe so I can foist Doof off on her and go track down a certain Demon in the green dress.

No Bebe of course.

Not making a friend of this cat as I tuck him like a football under one arm and make my way down to lounge level. People want to talk; grab my sleeve but I'm focused.

Man on a mission here, move outta my way.

Doof is making an effective threat now; people are scattering quick as I hold him out in front of me to clear a path.

Good kitty.

By the time I get to the black and white tiled floor of the Noir, the crowd is _much_ bigger and I'm not sure what direction to look, so I scan around, feeling my pulse jumping.

Was that _really _Potts?

I'm having doubts now— is this all an illusion brought on by waaaaaay too much wishful thinking, excess testosterone and not enough time to spank the monkey?

I turn towards the picture window, and whoa, there she is, standing in the center of a circle of men who all but have their tongues hanging out.

Holy crap. I'm not seeing panty lines, and what I AM seeing is making Iron Man Jr. perk up big time. Hint of carved hip and naked thigh that begs me to lick it.

Did I just growl?

Time to end this charade, because nobody's getting near that hip but me.

"Hi, have we met? I'm Doctor ÜberEvil, fiendish Mastermind and your host for the evening," I babble and move in. Doof is really pissed now, but Pepper reaches out a hand and Jesus, her_ talons_ . . . she scratches Doof under the chin and he goes right into motorboat mode. So loud we can ALL hear it.

"What a lovely pussy you have, Doctor," Pepper murmurs.

Everybody laughs, oh hardy har-HAR because it's such a hilarious joke that I have just been disrespected, in _public_ by my PA.

My drop-dead gorgeous Dragon Lady from HELL PA.

So I want to make some snappy comeback about how hers is nicer and how we could arrange for a private comparison, but somehow my tongue is drying up because watching Pepper run that long black cigarette holder along her glossy red bottom lip is . . . distracting me.

I can smell something musky and herbal to that smoke. Something exotic. Pepper smoking?

God.

Iron Man Jr. is on the verge of doing the Wave.

Annnnd, I'm not the only one here in the Circle of Lust, apparently, so I do what I do best.

Yes, I order people around.

"So, hey! It's a party, go grab some drinks, have some of those painfully expensive squid kabobs and fried wombat testicles. I need to have a little talk with Miss Shanghai here. Go-go-go, folks! Make that catering bill hurt!"

They reluctantly move out and I hoist Doof on one of them—the skinny little guy from Cybernetics who came as Sid Vicious. Doof is giving the guy a 'Oh let me shed all over you' look.

"But I'm _really_ allergic to cats, Mr. Stark," The father of Punk whines at me, holding Doof out at arm's length like the big furry bomb he is.

"That's Doctor ÜberEvil, Sid, emphasis on the umlaut," I snap. "First Aid's over by the bathrooms, I'm sure they've got Benadryl."

I turn, ready to take on the extra hot Pepper---

And she's gone.

*** *** ***

Pepper is glad she took the time to study the layout of the Noir lounge earlier. Generally she does for matters of security, but this time, it's fun simply to be able to pull a Houdini on Tony, and leave him stranded.

At the moment, she's in a quiet alcove, sitting and enjoying the view of the city lights below. The martini is warming her stomach nicely, and Pepper debates having another one. She doesn't want to get drunk of course—that would be counterproductive—but if she paces herself, Pepper might let herself have one more lovely, lovely martini tonight.

A man walks up; he's dressed as a mercenary, bare arms oiled to show off his muscles. McDermond, the burly head of Plant Operations. She can smell the alcohol on his breath, and see the lurch in his steps.

McDermond: one of the ones who used to harass her a lot before she got the promotion to being Tony's PA, and intermittently afterwards.

"Someone told me you were hot tonight," he rumbles. "And shit, they were right! Damn, Virginia baby, you look good enough to eat. Mind if I have some of that tasty thigh?"

He laughs as if he's made the world's greatest joke, and to re-emphasize his own appeal, flexes his muscles for her as he moves in closer, confident in his size.

McDermond, who used to trap her in elevators and make comments worse than this.

Pepper manages an elaborate yawn.

This does not go over well, and McDermond moves closer again, his expression not so pleased this time. "What's the matter, Potts? Stark keeping you on a busy schedule these days bending over and blowing him?"

Pepper stares at McDermond, letting the tension draw out between them. Normally she'd be flushed and furious at this point, but tonight, it's different.

Evil _is_ the theme, she remembers. And Evil can be fun.

"Tell me, Lyle," Pepper purrs. "Have you erased all that bestiality porn off your laptop yet?"

He goes brick red, and sways a bit. Pepper sighs, standing up slowly. "It's a funny thing, but with my security clearance, I can take a peek at anyone's downloads on any company issued computer, and you've got _quite_ an interest in donkey shows. I wonder, does your fiancée know about your love of animals, dear?"

McDermond is making a choking noise, a gurgly sound that's music to Pepper's ears. She manages a smile with those scarlet lips of hers, and brushes past Lyle, adding, "Get your resume in order, Lyle sweetie, and start sending out letters, because after tonight, your career with SI has come to a gentle parting of the ways."

Pepper glides away, and yes, she_ will_ have that second martini, complete with extra olives as a reward for taking out the trash in style this time.

*** *** ***

--Tony—

Why is it when I'm looking for a woman, I can never find the one I'm actually after? I've got dozens of them in my face right now—an Imelda Marcos, an Eva Braun; two, count them, TWO Joan Crawfords, but no Dominatrix Potts in sight.

Damn it.

This is turning into a night of very surrealistic proportions, and believe me, I know what I'm talking about. I try to push off the ladies with a few complimentary words, but my radar is up and at the very least I spot Platypus coming in the door.

Not bad. He can carry off the three-piece suit and fedora pretty damned good, and the violin case is a nice touch, along with the two-tone shoes and cigar. Rhodey is classic Gangster—I'm guessing Black Irish.

I make my way to him, giving a nod to his costume.

He preens and then eyes me critically. "You look like a walking baked potato, Tony."

"Yeah, thanks, that was _just_ the look I was going for: Carbohydrates of Death," I snap. "Sil-ver, lamé okay? This is vintage Bad Guy—didn't you ever see any Bond movies?"

"Which one--Doctor No Sour Cream? Or To Russet with Love?"

I want to be annoyed. I do, but damn it, it's funny. I cross my arms and try to glare. "Don't make me sic the sharks with lasers on you."

"Tomorrow Never Fries?" Platypus continues, cracking himself up. "For Your Chives Only?"

"Yeah, yeah, and Diets Are Forever," I finish up wearily. Love the guy, but I have an_ agenda_ here and I need his help. "All done? Is it out of your system now?"

"Sure, GoldenFry," he tells me. "You bet. Where's Pepper, man? You need Pepper. And some butter."

"Platypus, don't take this personally, but shut up. Tonight I am Doctor ÜberEvil, and I'm NOT in a good mood. Pepper is here somewhere and I need to round her up pronto."

"Okay, okay," Rhodey tells me, brushing his lapels and looking a little pissy. "You don't need to get, you know—steamed."

"No sharks for you," I growl. "You're getting the spiders with the machine gun eyes. Come on; Potts is out there making trouble."

We start moving through the party and Rhodey is glad-handing while at the same time, talking out of the corner of his mouth at me. "Pepper? Making trouble? Um, I thought you said she was the epitome of a good girl?"

It hits me then, in a nice big Mach 5 mental roundhouse. "Shit."

"That's not good," Rhodey shoots back. "What?"

"_Some_body heard me say that," I realize out loud. "_Some_body who is now really, really _pissed _about it."

Rhodey holds up the hand not carrying the violin case. "Dude, you are on your _own_ now. Not getting in the line of fire on _this_ one!"

"Some friend," I sneer, feeling this weird mix of relief and annoyance. Platypus has generally been good about watching my back, but once he gets a look at Pepper tonight, I may have to Rochambeau him pretty hard.

Am I a total ass for looking forward to that?

"Tony, _you're_ the one who blew it, man. Time to consider doing some Über groveling. Me, I'm checkin' out the bar. See you," Rhodey says, and heads off. It's okay though—I've just spotted She Who Is Too Damned Hot in the distance, and I'm locked on target.

My turn.


	2. Chapter 2

--Tony--

This time she's at the balcony, looking out over the view of the hot tubs, and suddenly I'm weak in the knees because Pepper's got an olive delicately speared in the very end of one of her fantastic index talon.

Sexy?

Gahhhhh!

She turns, and I'm still trying to figure out what to say, but Pepper speaks first. "Doctor. I didn't recognize you without your big pussy."

"Um, okay Pepper, I _get_ it now. You're pissed at me, and yeah, I can understand why--" is as far as I get because she's _licking_ the olive and that is NOT helping my concentration one damned bit, seeing that pink tongue flicking out from those red lips, caressing that . . . that . . .

What's it called again?

Quickly she sucks it off her red fingernail and crunches it between very white teeth, then licks her lips.

_I _want to lick her lips.

"You," Pepper purrs at me, "Understand _nothing._ You don't know how to be evil, because you've never _suffered,_ . . . Doctor."

"I'm suffering now," I whimper in absolute and painful honesty. There's only so much room in my silver boxers, and watching Pepper is not helping the situation down there at all.

*** *** ***

Pepper eyes Tony patiently. He's off-balance, yes, and certainly aware that he's made a serious error in judgment. She likes the way he's shifting his weight from one leg to the other and knows exactly why her boss is doing it.

Hard to hide the outline when you've dressed yourself to be stared at.

Time to up the evil ante on her boss.

One of the caterers—a curvy harem girl bearing an empty tray—is passing by, and on a quick and reckless whim, Pepper holds out her cigarette holder, stopping the girl, who drops a quick, instinctive curtsey.

"Mistress?" the girl asks uncertainly.

Pepper smiles, and reaches out to cup the girl's cheek. "You are so beautiful. How I would _love _to kiss you," she purrs, tongue flicking out to touch her upper lip.

The girl blushes and it's a charming sight.

Tony blushes and it's a gratifying sight.

Pepper leans forward and whispers, "Run along. I will find you . . . later."

The girl fumbles with her tray, eyes wide, but not with shock or fear. She drops another curtsey and skitters away, looking back, mouth puckered in a sweet little 'O' of hopeful surprise.

Pepper shifts her glance to Tony, who is now biting his lips, hard, and swaying a little.

"Suf-fer-ing," he admits in a hoarse little voice. "Ooohyeah."

"Good," Pepper tells him, pitching her normally high voice in a nice, husky timbre. "That's _very _good. If you last through this entire party without the relief of your own hand, Doctor, I just _may _put you out of your aching, blue-balled misery."

Other people are coming over; Pepper shifts to brush past Tony, reaching quickly to smooth her palm over the hot and hard ridge along his inseam. He shudders.

"Hang on to it," she breathes in his ear. "I might want to play with it in a while."

Then with a careless smile she moves off. Part of her wants to glance over her shoulder to see Tony's face, but she knows that would spoil the power of the moment, so Pepper turns to look around at the guests.

Rhodey is at the bar, and she advances on him, holding out the cigarette holder his way. His eyes widen, and he reaches to light it for her; Pepper sees his pulse quicken along his throat.

"Daaaaaamn," is all he manages.

Pepper takes a puff and blows it out, right in his face. "You're going to dance with me tonight, Jimmy," she tells him in a low command. "Aren't you?"

He nods, dazed.

She smiles; this Evil theme is getting addictive.

*** *** ***

--Tony--

I . . . am SO over a barrel. Seriously. I thought this party was going to be about saying goodbye to misconceptions and old ideas and the past, and suddenly it's become my own hellish gauntlet. I smile, I shake hands, I make little witty comments, but the entire time, I have my radar going, keeping Pepper Dragon in my sight because . . .

Because I can't let her go.

Who IS this woman?

Don't get me wrong; I love my Miss Potts. I do. God knows I've put her through hell time and time again and she's always been there for me because she and I have this understanding about how we're all that each of us has.

Pretty little speech that I haven't forgotten, not at all.

But _this_ is so far over my head that it's like staring from the bottom of a well. My innocent sweet Pepper, half-*naked* smoking, drinking and coming onto other women.

It's like a Penthouse fantasy rolled up in a Fu Manchu movie.

And I do not want to share, nope. Not even with the harem girl.

The other weird part—like all of this isn't weird _enough_-- is that I'm actually a lit-tle bit . . . scared.

Not scared of Pepper per se; just sort of scared of this side of her. This 'where-the-hell-did-this-Dominatrix-come-from?' side that popped out of nowhere.

I thought I _knew_ her. Pepper: my reliable, beautiful, gentle personal assistant, the woman, the legend.

The GOOD girl in my life.

It's confusing because while I'm hot and bothered by the red clawed She-Devil, I'm vaguely worried that my sweet, vanilla-scented Pepper is, well . . . gone, and _she's _the one I'm in love with.

I don't really have much of a chance to worry about it though, because I'm stuck with Doof again, and over on the dance floor, Platypus has succumbed to the Dark Side big-time.

Traitor. I can't really blame him, but it feels good to seethe with resentment, because it takes my mind off my physical discomfort.

And yes, it aches. I am not a happy Evil Mastermind at the moment.

*** *** ***

She loves to dance. Pepper always has, but it's not something Tony's ever known since she doesn't dance with him—well, she did, once, but that time was filled with a lot of other things and Pepper is sure he didn't notice the actual dancing that time.

But Rhodey is good, and there's a gleam in his eyes that's fun to see. He may have an idea of what's going on, but he's nice enough not to say anything about it. So far his conversation has consisted of "Fantastic dress."

They're doing a slow foxtrot while the theme to Dark Shadows plays, and Pepper is enjoying herself. She's aware of Tony watching them, and moving to cut in.

"May I?" Tony asks through gritted teeth.

"Bug off, Doctor Jiffy-Pop," Rhodey replies. "This dance is _mine_."

Pepper senses what's about to happen; she pulls her hand off of Rhodey's broad shoulder just as Tony drops Doof onto it. Doof anchors himself into the material and flesh underneath before rubbing against Rhodey's head, effectively distracting him. As the colonel spins away, yelping, to deal with his unexpected Persian stole, Tony swoops in and picks up the dance without missing a beat.

She wants to laugh because it's so brilliantly done and so ruthlessly Tony.

"Hi," he manages, "you know, it's bad to associate with known gangsters."

"As opposed to evil genius masterminds," Pepper murmurs, fighting to keep her expression stern. He's working his charm, but there is still a little coal of resentment deep inside that won't let her end this charade just yet.

"Me? I'm one big cuddly plaything. Your Überteddy if you will," he murmurs.

Pepper can feel his body against hers; his heat and slight desperation. Tony's dark eyes hold some anxiety now, and she notes that his palm is sweaty. Nothing fake about his insecurity, and when the dance ends, Pepper keeps his damp hand in her grip.

"Come with me," she murmurs.

One of the balcony areas has a little L-shaped area that insures a bit of privacy. Pepper notes ironically that she always seems to have heart-to-hearts in places like this. She turns to look again at Tony, who is uncharacteristically silent.

"You didn't think I could _do_ this," Pepper begins, quietly and slowly. "I wasn't meant to hear what you said to Rhodes, but I did, Tony. And it hurt, because you know what? We _all _have an evil side. You get to flaunt yours. The rest of us don't have that option."

"You're right," Tony murmurs in a voice so low she can barely hear it. "I never gave you credit for having an evil side because I've never seen it before, Pepper. I've been around you for so many years, and you're always . . . good. Good to me, good to other people . . . just . . . good. It's hard to accept that you're the same woman I love."

"I'm not _just_ good," Pepper feels slightly frustrated. "I'm evil too. I have all the frustrations and irrational angers and malicious thoughts as anyone else. I've just gotten into the habit of putting that energy into constructive and positive action. When I can, I mean."

Tony holds very still, listening, taking it in and Pepper can see that he's starting to understand this. She takes a breath and stares at him. "Tony—I fired someone at this party. I deliberately confronted and threatened a few other people. And you know what? Those things needed to be done, and I _could _have done it nicely, on Monday with memos and all the right protocol. But I didn't. I used my right to be _evil _and it felt . . . good."

"Whoa," Tony murmurs. "Seriously?"

"Very seriously," Pepper sighs. "I don't choose to be evil, but I need you to know right in here—" she taps his chest with a fingernail, hitting the arc precisely, "—what I'm capable of. I. CAN. be. evil."

*** *** ***

--Tony—

Love her. God, I really, really do love her, because she's Potts and so beautiful when she's sincere down to the bone like this. How could I have missed it?

This powerful, serene, freckled femme fatale who owns my soul right now.

I look around, and before Pepper can fuss, I move closer, undoing the front of the jacket, just enough so she can see a bit of the arc. I lightly take her thin wrist.

"You _are _evil," I tell her. "And you and I are going make it official. Right here, Miss Potts. I insist."

I swing her cigarette holder up, and she panics for a second as she realizes what I mean. Pepper pauses, but I keep my eyes on her pale face.

"I deserve this," I tell her. "Be evil. I sure as hell won't forget it."

A beat passes. A long, long instant while we stare at each other, but Pepper straightens up, and quickly does it.

She grinds out her cigarette butt against my arc.

I watch her do it, seeing the hot ash from the end of the holder smear over the protective case, leaving a dark smudge on it.

I run a finger through the soot, making a dirty lopsided heart over the glass, and close my eyes briefly, because it's sort of a heavy moment for both of us.

Yeah, yeah, I may be a billionaire and a genius for whatever that's worth, but I'm in the presence of the most amazing person I will ever know.

Pepper is shaking, and not just because it's getting a little cool out here, so I reach for her empty hand and kiss it, starting at the back and moving in to the palm. Pepper stares at me, biting her lower lip.

I button up my jacket again. "God damn it, I love you."

"Get the car. We're leaving, right now," Pepper tells me in a soft, choked voice.

*** *** ***

She's giddy. Pepper feels as if she's floating, not attached to the ground anymore, drifting like a balloon through the party. Tony is moving ahead of her, his strides purposeful and direct. He stops in front of Rhodey and tells him something and Pepper follows, not fast, not slow, just steadily.

Her body can't adjust temperature. Her stomach is cold, her face and neck hot. Pepper keeps seeing the glowing end of her cigarette snuffing against the Arc glass, the red of her against the blue of him. She keeps seeing Tony's dark-eyed gaze full of fear and awe as he truly _sees_ her the way she really is.

They move outside, past the flashes of cameras and into the welcoming cocoon of the limo. Happy's second-in-command Brian is behind the wheel. Brian helps both of them in then closes the door and once he does they're in their own little private world since the windows are up and tinted.

Pepper drops the cigarette holder, not wanting to touch it anymore. Tony turns to her, hands out, and hesitating; he's not sure of his welcome and that uncertainty suddenly makes it easy.

She reaches for his hands and using them, pulls herself closer, into his personal space along the soft velour seat. Tony shudders when Pepper presses against him, the scent of smoke and perfume tinting the dark air-conditioning of the limo. The car begins to move.

They don't speak; it's not necessary. Pepper kisses him, deep and hard, desire and urgency in every caress. She nips his lips, sucks his tongue, urges him on. Tony responds, shaking.

That is when Pepper realizes exactly how much she means to Tony Stark.

That epiphany rushes through her with glorious heat, searing her from head to toes, and she laughs, sweetly. Tony pulls up from a kiss, and the wariness drains from his expression as he notes her joy.

"You _love_ me," Pepper whispers, delighted.

"Well _yeah,"_ Tony shoots back, looking annoyed and confused. "You're all of it, you know. Sun, moon, stars, new armor, Cibiannati espresso. Every good thing in my life comes through you."

"I'm not the sun!" Pepper murmurs against this throat, and moves to straddle him. Tony groans.

"Yes you are. Hot and bright and essential to life," he manages in a rare flash of poetic turn. "Ohgodyou'renotwearinganythingunderthisareyou?"

"Shhhh," Pepper orders, and kisses him again, sweeping him up in it; she breaks off to press her lips to his eyelids and nose and each cheek before dipping once again into his mouth.

Tony doesn't know where to put his hands, or what to do. Pepper realizes it's been a long time for him, and he's afraid of displeasing her, so she lightly, gently undoes his fly. "I can't really wait," she tells him, knowing that will ease some of his worries.

His hands slide under her skirt and along her naked hips, cupping them, fingers warm and strong as Pepper shifts forward and onto his shaft.

They both groan, loudly, and at any other time Pepper would blush, but not tonight because the _feel_ of Tony driving up into her has all of her emotions and tensions and desire dancing on the precipice now.

Tony pulls her hips down, and their bodies move, fitting sweetly, hot and slick and building now. Pepper braces her hands on his shoulders, arching to deepen the sensation.

It's glorious and dangerous. Pepper loves the dark and the warmth and Tony's hot panting against her lips. He's saying something, but she's close to coming and can only hear him from very far away as the weightless joy fireworks deep under her stomach, the tension rolling out through her entire body.

She shudders, barely able to contain the pleasure, and faintly, faintly Pepper hears . . .

*** *** ***

--Tony—

"_Love _you Pepper!" I grunt and that's all she wrote because I lose it then, and Godddddddd, it's been a long time and Pepper is tight and wet and smells so fucking good.

I want it to go on, and on and on. It's like the first flight in the Suit, just up and up forever, acceleration and thrill. There's no descent though, and I'm holding Pepper and trying to breathe, not giving a damn about anything but her.

Time enough later to clean up the sweat and damp clothing; right now I'm where I need to be. Where I've always *wanted* to be and just didn't realize it.

This is my Pepper, good, evil, sexy and precious. We're going to go home, and take a bath and I'm taking her to bed. If I try, I might be able to talk her into staying for longer than the night.

I might not be able to: she's evil sometimes.

But I can live with that.

I can SO live with that.


End file.
